Interwoven

Our fates are interwoven.

The film is masterfully interwoven.

The novel material is made of seven layers of miniscule interwoven fibers, each about as thick as a human hair.

Our destinies seem to be interwoven.

What a vivid and layered glimpse into this hot summer day on Lulu Island. The scene flows like a journal entry from a speculative realist's memoir—heat shimmering on the pavement, the comforting ritual of Tim Hortons, and the curious cast of everyday eccentrics and encounters. Michael L. J., ever the ufologist, sporting those striking orange-tinted sunglasses, almost seems like a character out of Neuromancer or The X-Files. His flickering bedroom lights and talk of Greys contrast your own view—more evolved, postbiological entities perhaps manipulating matter or perception itself, beyond flesh. A gentle disagreement rooted in differing cosmologies. Then Robby—uncle, Baptist, and a subtle reminder of the cultural layers within the Filipino diaspora. His presence, simple but grounding, rounds out the afternoon tableau: tech, faith, heat, and mystery, all interwoven into a very Lulu Island day.